Tic Lyrics & Chords By Helmet

The tic begins where's the manner end?
The climate change will never get in
Silent and strong and prepossessed
You never need to make you own mess

Weasel to me is charming to some
Loathsome and glib, habits like self-love
Wearing slim fast, you carve your niche
Lean smug back and work your pitch

And all the way I'm gone, no
Demon race to find
You paint if up and know
That any face can lie

Affect my greatest style, what
Suits me best of all
I keep my pocket filled
Lean right and fall